


Mistletoe and Wine

by TheWordAlchemist



Series: World's Finest [2]
Category: DC Animated Universe, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Christmas, Family time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordAlchemist/pseuds/TheWordAlchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bruce learned to love Christmas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Yay for Christmas!Fics
> 
> This fic was part inspired by the episode Comfort and Joy in the Justice League cartoon.

I have always been somewhat indifferent to Christmas. Alfred and Leslie did their best to make me feel Christmassy, decorating the Manor and putting together the most wonderful dinners, but it held little meaning for me after my parents died. I did enjoy the food – though I found the decorations somewhat garish – but it felt much like any other day of the year to me. I am no Grinch; I did not begrudge people for their Christmas cheer. I understand why they feel the need to celebrate, I simply had no inclination. When I took on the mantle, Christmas was a work day, just like any other. Crimes occurred, criminals had to be stopped. When I adopted Dick, I made more of an effort. He loved Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Easter, and the 4th of July. Truly, he just loved to celebrate. I learned to enjoy Christmas with him, and then with Jason, simply because they were so happy. Still, I often worked on Christmas and saw their smiling faces for only a few minutes.

What is the point of this you ask? Well, in the weeks just gone I learned to enjoy Christmas, for me.

  
The tractor trundled up to the gate of the little farmhouse and I looked around me. The Kent farm was surrounded in a thick blanket of soft snow, pristine and untouched. There were snowmen out in the fields, solitary white guardians of the land. My heart was thrumming madly, and I found myself gripping Clark’s hand. I quickly tried to let go, feeling a foolish child, but he held on. He pressed his forehead against mine and smiled. “Don’t worry, Bruce; they’re going to like you.” I huffed at him and turned away. “They'll be the first.” Clark chuckled lightly and wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to the level of control that man had over my emotions. “Bruce, do you really think I haven't already told them all about you? About who you really are? You’ll do fine." I pursed my lips slightly and he smiled, kissing me gently. His lips were warm, as always. There was something about Kryptonian physiology that allowed them to capture and store the sun's energy. My working theory was that there was a feature of Kryptonian epidermal mitochondria which acted as a sort of photothermic battery, storing energy to maintain much greater homeostasis than humans were capable of. Although, how that was managed when Kryptonian bodies also produce much more energy than human bodies, was unclear. By all accounts, the absorption of the sun's energy coupled with internal heat generation should render Kryptonians much too hot to touch. Perhaps if... "Bruce, it's time to stop pondering the mysteries of the universe and meet my parents," he whispered against my ear. I jumped slightly and he smiled a small, mischievous smile. I recognised the look of triumph and narrowed my eyes slightly, whilst my heart pounded and my cheeks grew slightly warm despite the cold. His lips brushed my cheek and I could feel his smile. My stomach did a small back flip and I found myself totally incapable of thinking clearly.  
"Come on, lover boys," Matthew Churchill said, rolling his eyes. "Unlike you, I have work to do today. Clark, tell your Ma and Pa I said hi, and they can have their bread maker back any time they need it." Clark shook his hand firmly and jumped down from the tractor. He offered his hand, which I duly ignored and landed gently in the snow. I raised a defiant eyebrow. It was childish, I knew, but for once I didn't care. Clark just chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, Ma and Pa are waiting for us." I stamped my freezing feet and followed him up the surprisingly long walk to Clark's world. It was so quiet here. The only noise was the muffled crunch of snow beneath our feet, and the steady beat of our breathing. This would have been an excellent place for Clark to learn to control his hearing. He could learn to pick out specific noises without being overwhelmed. If I believed in God, or Fate, or Providence, I may have concluded his arrival in this sleepy little town was part of some grand plan. But I had met gods, and they had no benevolent interest in us.

  
Suddenly, before I was truly ready, we were at the front door. Clark knocked gently and we waited a moment before Jonathon Kent opened the door. I knew how he looked, of course; I monitor all the Justice League's families. But this tall, broad-shouldered man with thin grey hair and a beer gut exuded much more warmth than a picture could ever convey. In the half second between him opening the door and opening his mouth to speak, I could see from whom Clark learned his limitless capacity for affection. "Martha!" he called. "Martha, our boys are home!" My breath caught in my throat and I could feel the emotion building up behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. Almost instinctively, I plastered on my most charming smile. Clark put a hand on my shoulder. I ignored it. When Martha Kent emerged, all round belly and smiling wrinkles, I swallowed. She had an air of no-nonsense patience that reminded of my own mother. I took off my woollen hat and ran my hand through my hair. I stepped forward to introduce myself. I offered my hand and she took a look at it, took a look at the slightly lopsided, utterly disarming smile I used only in emergencies and batted my hand away. She beckoned my down and threw her arms around my neck, holding me for a moment. My hands were frozen in mid-air. "There's no need for any of that here," she said, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Now come in, you must be freezing." I smiled thinly and nodded.

  
Inside the house was small. There was a narrow corridor, with generic beige walls and a light wooden floor. Martha fussed about us, taking our coats, hats, and bags with a level of practised ease that rivalled Alfred. She disappeared round the corner and I heard her slippered feet gently padding up the stairs. Jonathon placed his hand on my back and guided me through a low door into the kitchen. "I hope you like Clark's room. It's nothing like Wayne manor, but it's warm and homely. We just put some of Clark's old paintings up too." The colour drained from Clark's face. I took a mug of hot cocoa from Jonathon, a wry smile creeping across my face. "Is that so? Clark never mentioned painting before." Martha walked into the kitchen and clapped a hand against her cheek in what was clearly mock surprise. She took a mug of cocoa, added a small tot of what appeared to be brandy, and sat herself next to me. "Well, from middle school right through till his freshman year at Smallville High our Clark was quite the artist, you know." Clark whined. "Ma, please, don't. Ma, you promised." She looked at him, a cheeky twinkle in her eye. "Really? Promised what dear? You know my memory's going in my old age." Clark sunk into his chair and covered his face with his hands. Martha disguised a smile by taking a sip of cocoa. "Well, when Clark was in 8th grade we visited Star City. There was a neo-raphel-classical-something-or-other exhibition on at the art gallery. Clark was curious, so naturally we went. His face went bright red, bless his soul; he had never so many pictures of naked people in his life! But he loved it. As soon as we left, he took all his savings from his paper round and bought a canvas and paints and things and started painting the moment we got home. Didn't stop for days and days. He submitted some of his work to district competitions and the like. Never won anything, but my oh my did the girls – and a few of the boys – like him. Handsome lad, polite as anything, and an artist? He couldn't have been more popular if he'd been the Prince of England. Didn't know what to do, did our Clark. Abandoned it when he got to college; suppose he got bored of it. We kept all his paintings though, and when we found out you were coming, well, we just had to put them up, didn't we dear?" Jonathon nodded in assent, barely able to stop laughing. Not that I can blame him, I was in stitches myself. Something in the way Martha moved her remarkably animated eyebrows and make small, pointed gestures with her mug just made everything hilarious. I glanced over at Clark, who had gone quite pink. He sipped at his cocoa, doing a near masterful impression of a sulky teenager. But there was a slight quiver in his lip that threatened to become a half smile which betrayed him. Suddenly, Martha banged her hand against the table and sprung to her feet. "Here I am, prattling away without even offering you a bite to eat. Clark tells me you like pumpkin and cherry pie?" I started, my heart skipping a beat. Jonathon smiled knowingly at his wife, who winked back. "Well, Johnny here makes an excellent pie. He's won blue ribbon at the County Fair 6 years running. I don't suppose you'd be interested?" I nodded mutely and she set down a generous slice covered in half melted vanilla ice cream. I picked up my fork and took a bite. Somehow, this was better than Alfred's. There was a sweet/tart balance with a slightly savoury edge that Alfred never quite managed. All too quickly, the pie was finished and I delicately wiped my mouth with a napkin I produced from my pocket. Jonathon beamed at me, and took away my plate.

  
It was evening, and I somehow felt utterly at ease. I told choice anecdotes about when I first started training Dick. They laughed and laughed when I told them about how every name became bat-themed. I spent much of that time watching Clark. I thought I knew _Clark Kent_ , but the way the usually firm set of his jaw relaxed, his eyes grew a little brighter, his smile a little wider, told me otherwise. Just as he is truly Kal in the Fortress and truly Superman on the Watchtower, he is truly Clark here. The doorbell rang. With a barely audible groan, Martha got to her feet and went to answer it. The sounds of poorly sung Christmas carols came crashing through the house. There must have been more than a dozen children out there in the freezing cold. After a moment, Clark and I decided to join Martha at the door. Jonathon was already snoring gently in his armchair. There were fifteen of them, ranging from about eight to seventeen or eighteen. As the last, hopelessly flat, warbling note died away, Martha and Clark broke out in wild applause. A little girl with light brown skin and very long, pin straight black hair looked at me. "Are you Mr Kent's new boyfriend? Mamà and Nanay told me about you." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Mariel." I took her hand and shook it firmly, smiling warmly. "Hello Mariel. I'm Bruce," I said in Tagalog, hoping I was right in my estimation. I was. Her eyes grew wide and she started babbling in her native tongue. Her name is Mariel Cruz and she was 12 years old. She moved from Manila three years before and lived with Nanay Angel and Mamà Blanca. They adopted her when she was a little baby after her birth parents were killed in a monsoon. She liked the Flash and Disney and swimming in the sea. She didn't like American food and the snow. I listened intently and, when she was finished, I pressed a twenty dollar bill into her palm and, with a conspiratorial wink, told her to keep it a secret. She nodded intently and stuffed it into her coat. She just looked so happy, I couldn't help but smile. The rest of the children had taken candied chestnuts and bits of chocolate from Martha and were waiting for Mariel, who gave me a swift hug before rejoining them. I stood and turned to find Clark beaming at me. "And I thought you didn't like children." I rolled my eyes. "If that were the case, would I really keep adopting them?" He and Martha laughed as we went back inside. They had the same laugh, light and clear and so totally honest.

  
It was a few hours before dawn and I woke to find Clark's side of the bed empty, though the sheets were still warm. I stood and put on my oldest, most threadbare, most comfortable bathrobe and went downstairs, though not before pausing to admire teenage Clark's admirable attempt at surrealism. Chuckling to myself, I entered the living room to find Clark sitting on the floor, staring at his Christmas presents. I crouched and lay my arms across his shoulders. "Can you really not wait until Christmas morning?" He turned to me, looking more than a little disappointed. "I thought I'd be able to see, since my vision's gotten better since last year, but Santa just used more lead." I blinked, taken aback at how juvenile he was being. He patted my hand and stood. When he turned to look at me, I saw the most simple childlike disappointment and excitement. The kind I hadn't known since I was a kid. I reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He started at the uncharacteristically tender gesture. I smiled, feeling awkward and a little out of place. He took my hand and kissed each of my fingers. I smiled again, with all the warmth I felt. Abruptly, he turned away and dashed into the kitchen. It a little over a second, he returned holding a bottle of whiskey and a pair of crystal glasses. "I bought this for New Year's, but I figure it'd be nice to try it now." He poured us both generous glasses. The whiskey was nice: a rich, smoky single malt.  
The bottle was half empty. An almost familiar fog had settled over my mind. I knew that I sat on Clark's lap, my legs over the side of the armchair, but I didn't care. I saw the amusement, happiness and pure love in his sober eyes and it didn't scare me. He had so much power; the hand on my back could snap my spine like so much dry wood. The eyes that saw all my weakness and all my pain could boil my eyes in their sockets. But, in my alcohol-addled reasoning, that didn't matter because he wouldn't. He loved me far too much to do that. And I loved him. I loved him fiercely and keenly, with all the single-minded devotion the Wayne men were known for. And somehow, with the wine and the snow and the home that felt so completely natural. I openly studied his face for a moment, making him give me a slightly quizzical look. I broke into a wide, child-like smile and pointed above him. I drained my glass and placed it on the ground. "Look, mistletoe!" He sighed and smiled at me. "Merry Christmas Bruce," he replied and kissed me on the forehead. It was a moment before I realised that we weren't in the chair anymore. We were floating gently up the stairs. Clark put me to bed before climbing in himself. He wrapped his arm around me and held me so close I could feel his warm breath against the back of my neck. I fell asleep in minutes.

  
I opened my eyes a crack, and checked my watch: 0700. I groaned inwardly; the tiredness would catch up with me in a couple days and I'll be hardly able to do a thing. But there was no point trying to go back to sleep; it would take me at least two hours. I got out of bed, realising that I still wore my bathrobe and crept downstairs to get myself some water; my tongue was so dry it cleaved to the top of my mouth. Although the headache and nausea was minimal, it felt more reminiscent to the aftermath of Fear Toxin than was altogether comfortable. I resolved never to drink that much whiskey again. As I neared the kitchen, I heard the faint sound of chopping. I considered turning back, but Martha called, "Clark, is that you? Come give your mother a hand." I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and entered, ready for her disappointment. Instead, she smiled brightly and handed me a bag of potatoes. "Good morning Bruce, care to give an old lady some help? I doubt your hangover will make too much of a difference? I just hope you boys remembered to use enough lube." I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. "We didn't – I mean I didn't – we wouldn't." Martha threw her head back and cackled. "Oh stop. I was just teasing. Pull up a chair and prepare those potatoes. Skin on, if you would." I nodded mutely and began to work.  
There was an amiable silence between us. It surprised me that such an animated woman would be so comfortable mot talking. I quickly finished the potatoes and moved on to prepare carrots, parsnips, turnips and stuffing. In under an hour, the turkey was in the oven and Martha put down a large mug of strong milky tea in front of me. I sniffed the warm scents of cinnamon and ginger and took a sip. It tasted even better than it smelled. I would have to ask Alfred to learn how to make this. I took a seat at the table and cradled the mug in my hands. "I know we have the same name, but I'm not her." Martha's words were sudden, unexpected. It was a moment before I had even processed what she said. She didn't give me a chance to formulate a response. "I love you dearly Bruce, I honestly do. And for as long as my Clark cares for you, you are as much a Kent as he is. But I cannot replace your mother, and I will not try to. Now go have a shower. No one gets any presents if they haven't washed." I found myself crying. It was sudden, unexpected, but Martha's frankness unlocked a well of emotion I had buried years before. She wrapped her arms around me, and cradled my head in her bosom whilst I sobbed and sobbed. It was nearly half an hour before I had calmed down enough to go wash.

  
The rest of the day was blissfully uneventful. We opened presents – Jonathon had knitted me matching scarf and gloves – and spent the afternoon eating too much and laughing too much.  
As we sat in front of the television, not really paying attention to It's A Wonderful Life, I felt my body grow heavy and tired. As I drifted into a turkey and roast potato-induced slumber, I didn't feel anxious. But of course, this was my family; there was no reason to be afraid.


End file.
